Gillian Galbraith - Where The Shadow Falls

Wordlessly, Laurence Body rose from his seat, went to the window, collected from beside it another chair and then placed it beside his own. He smiled reassuringly at the Sergeant and, with a courtly gesture, indicated for her to take the seat. Oh fuck, she thought, worried that in such august company the power of speech might desert her or, at least, the power to persuade. Treat it like a presentation, she told herself, but a subversive answer in her own head replied that she had not prepared for any such thing, expecting instead some form of dialogue, ideas exchanged, tested, accepted or rejected, all in the course of an ordinary conversation.

‘Well Ma’am, Sir…’ she began, voice sounding weak already. ‘I think Christopher Freeman murdered the Sheriff and the Sheriff’s partner, but we may have great difficulty in proving it.’

‘Go on,’ Body said eagerly, clearly rapt.

‘First of all, motive. James Freeman, the eldest son, inherited all of the Freeman wealth, the vast house in Moray Place, land and so on, except for a single farm, Blackstone Mains, which was shared with his brother, Christopher. Originally, the elder brother was pro-wind farm and seems to have got Vertenergy involved or at least acceded to their wind farm plan. From Alistair’s enquiries with Vertenergy it seems that their lease of Blackstone Mains for a twenty-five year period would’ve netted the brothers a sum in excess of one and a half million. And for Christopher Freeman-almost anyone I suppose-that’s a huge amount of money. As far as I can see, he lives in pretty reduced circumstances. He doesn’t seem to have had any sort of career and his house in Frogston Road West reeks of genteel poverty. But the money won’t have mattered so much to the Sheriff: he was already rich, and he’ll have got a fat pension from the government. Also, he knew he was dying. Nicholas Lyon said that when James Freeman entered into negotiation with the company he was keen on renewable energy, global warming and all that. Over time, though, he changed his mind about wind turbines, possibly due to some extent to his partner’s arguments, appeals or whatever. Christopher Freeman, however, didn’t know that his brother had a partner, male or female. If his brother didn’t have a partner then it wouldn’t be an unreasonable assumption, even taking into account their strained relationship, that in the event of the Sheriff’s death the land would remain in Freeman hands, that it would be left by James Freeman to Christopher Freeman…’

The telephone rang, breaking the spell, and the Chief Inspector’s irritation could not have been missed by her caller.

‘Yes, Eric. Go home. Get better and, please, please don’t come back to the office until you’re mobile again. Okay. That understood? Fine. Bye.’

‘Suppose…’ Alice started again.

‘How do you mean, “suppose”?’ the Assistant Chief Constable interrupted.

‘It is only a supposition, Sir, but reasonable, I think.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Suppose Christopher Freeman called on his brother on the night of the murder. We know that the Sheriff had, by that time, told Vertenergy that he didn’t intend to allow Blackstone Mains to be included in the Scowling Crags scheme. Surely he must have communicated his decision to his brother, by some means? Anyway, we can check his phone records on that. If he did tell his brother then it seems quite plausible to me that Christopher Freeman might want to visit him. To talk to him. Persuade him to change his mind again and allow the scheme to go ahead. After all, his brother’s DNA was found in number seventy-three.’

‘Is that right, Alice?’ Elaine Bell asked, clearly surprised by the news.

‘Yes, Ma’am. Well, the lab says the stuff from the hairbrush matched…’

Laurence Body interrupted, ‘What on earth are you talking about, Sergeant? “The stuff on the hairbrush”?’

Alice’s eyes met her superior’s with dumb entreaty, then Elaine Bell spoke: ‘Ah, Sergeant Rice used her initiative, Sir. Collected some hair samples, granted in a slightly unorthodox fashion, from Christopher Freeman’s house.’

‘Well, that will be of no use in court,’ Body said coldly.

‘I know, Sir,’ Alice said, ‘but we’ll be able to get one we can use once we take him in.’

‘Bloody stupid thing to do, though. Carry on.’

‘So Christopher Freeman’s DNA is in his brother’s house. He must have been there about the time of the murder. The Sheriff had a cleaner after all. But he’s denied being there, and his wife said that the brothers hadn’t met for years and he, standing right beside her, made no attempt to correct that impression.’

‘They’re brothers, for heaven’s sake,’ Body interjected. ‘If he knows that his DNA was found at the scene then he’ll suddenly “remember” a recent innocent visit to explain it away. Then what will we have left? There was no DNA on the truncheon thing.’

‘Sir,’ Alice said, determined to keep going, ‘we can make it more difficult for him than that. He doesn’t know about the DNA he left in the building. And he’s not a bright spark either. If he did murder his brother in Moray Place he’s going to be determined, on all occasions, to deny going anywhere near the house whenever he is given the opportunity. If in his interview under caution we get him repeatedly stressing that he hasn’t been near the house for years, and he’s bound to say that to protect himself unless he knows about the sample, then he’ll find it very difficult indeed to explain all those denials on the record at his trial if he chooses to give evidence at all. The jury won’t be convinced by him if he’s consistently denied being near the place until confronted with the forensic evidence linking him to it…’

‘Maybe,’ Elaine Bell said, musing, ‘but the interview under caution would have to be handled incredibly carefully.’

‘What else have you got?’ Body said testily, plainly unconvinced.

‘It’s all circumstantial, Sir, about the Nicholas Lyon killing too, but again a sort of picture is beginning to emerge. I think so, anyway. Traffic concluded that Nicholas Lyon was not accidentally run over. The driver of the car seems to have accelerated at him, having been able to see him clearly. Tooles Garage sold Christopher Freeman a new, well, new secondhand, car on the afternoon of 7th July. Alistair got that information from them today. Mrs Freeman, and the Major, admit that they bought their new car two days after Nicholas Lyon’s death, and they both said that the old car had been sold the day before they got the new one. Mrs Freeman’s pretty vague on the sale. Either she doesn’t know anything about it or she doesn’t want to talk about it. Christopher Freeman said he sold the car to a stranger for cash, conveniently enough, scrap value only. A “For Sale” sign was, supposedly, in the back of the car. Only neither his wife nor any of his neighbours remember anything about any “For Sale” signs. It seems likely that Nicholas Lyon met someone at the Moray Place house and Mrs Gunn saw lights in the house before the accident. Suppose Forensics find more of Christopher Freeman’s DNA in…’

‘Hold on. Hold on. Hold on,’ Body said. ‘Forensics are checking Moray Place again, are they? Suppose they do find “more” of Christopher Freeman’s DNA. What exactly can be done with that?’

‘Yes, Alice,’ DC Bell added, concerned, aware of the potential problem.

‘It’s difficult, I know. I did say that. The Defence will, no doubt, suggest that any “more” DNA found was always there, missed by Forensics the first time, and then attempt to cover it by exactly the same explanation as will be proffered for the original stuff. I see that, but it might be useful for us to know. Suppose…’